The Cold Case
by Mckaykay11
Summary: The unresolved kidnapping of Peeta Mellark leaves the small town of Panem reeling and pushes Katniss Everdeen into a career as a police officer. When the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place six years after Peeta goes missing, Katniss will do anything to solve his case. Modern AU. **Currently on hiatus**
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **All rights go to Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, nor am I making money with my writing.

* * *

"Ooh, can we stop and get some donuts?"

I shake my head slowly, but don't take my eyes off of the dark road ahead of me. "We spend more time at Mellark's than we do actually working. And you know I hate feeding into that stereotype. Besides, you need to lay off of the sweets; that uniform is getting a little tight."

Finnick gasps and covers his mouth in mock indignation before breaking out into a cheeky grin. "C'mon now, Everdeen, you know you like what you see."

"Hardly, Odair."

"Oh, _come on_. It's a quiet night. We have time for a quick stop. Please. Pretty, _pretty_ please."

"Fine, but you need to lose the puppy dog face." I try to sound stern but mild amusement seeps through.

We drive to the bakery in relative quiet. Finnick tries to plug his iPod into the car's stereo, but I swat his hand away. I prefer the silence to think, a concept that I am certain Finnick will never understand. And the pop music he likes is just _awful_. I would rather jam pencils in my ears than listen to it. I glance at the illuminated clock on the dashboard as I pull into the empty parking lot of Mellark's Bakery.

"They don't open for another hour, you know."

"But our shift will be almost done by then. Old Man Mellark won't mind if we come in early. The lights are already on so he's probably back in the kitchen doing the prep for the day."

"Let's just get in, grab your donuts and a couple of coffees to go, and get out."

Finnick jumps out of the police car, almost giddy, and strides up to the building. I'm not surprised when he easily breezes through the front doors; in a town as small as Panem, almost no one locks their doors. The crime rate is practically nonexistent. For all the fuss I make about focusing on the job, I know it's going to be another uneventful night, just like every other. That doesn't exactly inspire the greatest confidence in my job security, but I wouldn't want it any other way.

At the sound of the chime on the door, Mr. Mellark steps out into the store front, a large smile on his face. My heart clenches every time I see his kind eyes. They're just so much like _his_, but I try not to dwell on that. The boy with the bread is long gone and it's high time that I accept that. I hardly knew him anyway. His disappearance shouldn't shake me so much.

But it does. The whole town was devastated when the youngest Mellark boy went missing. My feelings on the matter are nothing more than neighborly concern.

_Or are they? _ I brush the thought off as soon as it pops into my mind. It's a ridiculous notion. Clearly, I'm just upset because he was a classmate of mine. That's all there is to it. _Right? _

I'd never admit it to anyone else, but he was the reason I decided to go into law enforcement. Well, that and it paid the bills without needing a fancy college degree. Plus, snagging the job was a cinch since Haymitch apparently loves my "sass".

I only half listen as Finnick exchanges pleasantries with the older man, and then proceeds to order half a dozen donuts. I have no idea where he puts them all. Finnick is as lean and lithe a man as I have ever met, but I've seen him scarf down more food in one sitting than I could have ever dreamt of as a child. And yet, surprisingly, he's in even better shape than I am.

Finnick nudges my arm to draw my attention and hands me a steaming hot cup of coffee. I gratefully wrap my still frozen fingers around the cardboard cup and look woefully out the window where the snow has begun to pick up again.

"I suppose we should head back out…" I begin, but Mr. Mellark quickly cuts me off.

"Nonsense. I can't have my favorite customers freezing to death," he tells us with a good natured wink. "Take a load off at one of the tables in here for a while. You kids work too hard these days."

I consider telling him that in a small town like ours, my job is a breeze. But instead, I move towards a small table in the corner and unceremoniously plop down in the seat, spilling my scalding coffee as I do. I hiss and mutter a few choice words under my breath, jumping up to grab a napkin. After wiping off my hand, I join Finnick at our table as Mr. Mellark returns to the back.

"Want to catch a movie with me Saturday night, Everdeen?"

"Can't. I've already got plans."

"Hot date with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding?" he asks with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

"What? No, you know Gale and I aren't like that. And what's with the nickname? You're obviously spending too much time around Jo," I grumble. "If you must know, I'm being dragged out for a girl's night. Apparently, I don't get out enough."

Finnick throws back his head in laughter as I slurp down the final dregs of my coffee. "It's not funny!" I fix him with as stern a glare as I can muster. "You're not the one who has to wear some tiny little dress with shoes that pinch, and pretend you're having a great time while fending off creeps and trying not to go deaf from the volume of the music in a sweaty, nasty nightclub. Now let's go." My words come out in jumbled rush and I have to suck in a deep breath when I'm finished.

I march out the front door, pausing only briefly to throw a quick goodbye to Mr. Mellark over my shoulder. When I get home I slip into the house quietly so as not to wake Prim. She's home from her first year of college for winter break, a luxury I could never afford. I'm glad she's able to further her education though. She's sharp as a whip-much smarter than I am- and got a fantastic scholarship to John's Hopkins medical school in Baltimore. Unfortunately, it's more than a few hours from where we live in rural New Jersey, so she can't visit often.

I tiredly flip through the morning paper that I found already delivered on my front step when I got home. Like magnets, my eyes are drawn to the "Have You Seen Me?" section at the bottom of the last page. Just as it has for the last six years, the smiling face of a sixteen year old Peeta Mellark stares back at me. I quickly toss the newspaper aside and retire to my room, drawing the curtains shut to block out the rising sun.

I toss and turn in bed, trying to shut off my thoughts. All I can think about is how I never even thanked him, and now he's probably dead. My debts will forever be unpaid. The thought makes my stomach sink like a brick. Turning onto my back, I finally get some reprieve from my mind and fall into a fitful sleep.

I wake a few hours later to the smell of breakfast wafting up from the kitchen. Sleepily, I make way down the stairs and grab a piece of crispy bacon from the pile before Prim can slap my hand away.

"Uh-uh. I'm almost done and then we can sit down like at the table and eat brunch like a family. I called Mom this morning and she's coming over soon. Have you even talked to her since I moved out?" I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out to avoid answering the question, which only confirms my guilt. Prim shoots me a knowing look, then reaches up to the cabinet nearest to her and grabs three glasses before filling them with orange juice. "Please, just try for me. I think she's finally getting better."

I sigh but say nothing. I know that Mom will never recover from Dad's death, but I don't have the heart to tell Prim that. After an awkward meal and an hour of stilted conversation, I finally excuse myself, setting my dishes in the sink to be dealt with later. I slink back to my room in hopes of squeezing in some more sleep before picking up Finnick for work. We have night patrol all week.

Unsurprisingly, the night passes without too much action. After a speeding ticket, a lecture to some high school kids about vandalizing the benches in the public park, and a whole lot of hours of nothing, Finnick and I swing by the police station to retrieve Finnick's forgotten cell phone charger. When we arrive, we're met by an even more haggard than usual looking Sheriff Haymitch Abernathy.

"My office. Now," he orders before turning on his heel. I exchange an anxious look with Finnick before hurrying after him. Pulling the door shut behind me, I will myself not to gag at the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes. "I'm going to cut right to the chase. We think we might have a lead on the cold case. The Mellark one, that is."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own THG.**

* * *

The only sound that I'm aware of is the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I reach out and rest a hand on Finnick's shoulder to steady myself, afraid that I'll fall over if I don't. I open my mouth to speak but my tongue feels unnaturally thick and I'm unable to form any words. When Haymitch gestures for us to sit down in the chairs across from his desk, I happily oblige and collapse into the plush armchair beside Finnick.

"I was just getting ready to radio the two of you in when you came waltzing through the front door. We received an anonymous tip earlier this morning. Someone saw Peeta Mellark's picture on a milk carton or some crap like that and recognized him. The tip hasn't been fully investigated yet, so you can't go blabbering on about this to _anyone_, you hear? Not to your families and not to the boy's either. This needs to stay completely under wraps until the claim is verified." I nod dumbly and wait for Haymitch to continue. "But between you and me, this seems like the real deal. A case like this is way out of our league, so it's being transferred to the NYPD. I already talked to the guys down there, and they want some officers from our station to assist them. I'm putting you two on the case because I think that you're the most capable. Don't prove me wrong."

With a wave towards the door, Haymitch effectively dismisses us. Settling back into his chair, he takes a generous sip from a silver flask in his coat pocket and rubs his temples. Typical.

After breathing in the surely toxic fumes of his office, the stuffy hallway air has never felt so refreshing. I pace up and down the narrow space, each of my footsteps reverberating off of the dated and peeling linoleum. Finnick eyes me warily.

"What are you thinking?"

_That this is the perfect way to finally shrug off the guilt that's been plaguing me for years. I'll save his life like he saved mine, and we'll be even._

"I think that this is a good opportunity for us."

"You don't think that we're getting in over our heads here? I mean, we're not exactly detectives."

I cease my nervous movements and shrug. "No, but we'll be working with them. It's not like we're solving this case on our own, Finnick. And if that tip is legit, there might not be much solving to do anyway."

He nods, but doesn't seem fully convinced. I glance down at the simple black watch adorning my left wrist. "Alright, Odair, let's knock off early and get some celebratory donuts."

A wide smile stretches across his face. "You're such a rebel, Kat. Leaving work a whole fifteen minutes early. I didn't know you had it in you," he teases, yanking on my braid. I scowl at him.

"Don't make me change my mind."

"Yes, ma'am." He salutes, and I flick his ear.

Finnick wants to drive, but I shoot him down like always. He's quite possibly the worst driver, _ever_. Honestly, I'm not even sure how he got his license— probably bribery. The man has a lead foot like no other, and he can't make a decent turn to save his life. Or merge. Or park.

Instead of going to Mellark's like usual, I take us to the generic Dunkin Donuts on the edge of town. It's one of only a few chains in Panem, and most everyone chooses Mellark's instead. Finnick throws a questioning glance my way.

"I just- I don't know if I can go in there right now. I don't think I could look Mr. Mellark in the eyes and not tell him that we might have found his son, you know? He's just too good of a man to lie to like that."

Finnick climbs out of the car without saying anything and makes his way inside the building. I even order a donut today and we take them to go, munching as we drive aimlessly through the still deserted streets.

"Wanna raise a little hell?" Finnick asks, a devilish smirk resting lightly on his face.

I raise my eyebrows. "At six in the morning? Are you crazy?"

"We could always visit the boys down at the fire station."

"No way. You're banned from there after that little performance you put on last week."

"Aww, come on. It was just a little dancing."

"What you did with that fireman's pole was not _dancing_." I shake my head incredulously, my cheeks darkening slightly at the memory of him whipping his shirt off like there was no tomorrow.

"Sure it was. It was just exotic, like me." I catch him wink out of the corner of my eye.

"That was cheesy, even for you. And your 'dancing' was highly inappropriate."

"Okay, Mom." I roll my eyes and slug him in the shoulder.

Finnick yawns and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from doing the same. We decide to just head home and catch up on some well-deserved sleep. For the first time in what feels like forever, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, comforted by the knowledge that Peeta Mellark is out there somewhere, still alive.

I sleep for a full ten hours, for once feeling completely rested when I wake. I find Prim watching TV in the den, her forgotten school notes strewn out across the couch all around her. She tells me that Haymitch called while I was asleep and I grab the phone from the hook to call him back.

He answers on the second ring with a gruff hello.

"This is Katniss. Prim said you called?"

"I know who you are, Sweetheart. It's the twenty first century— even I have caller ID. I want you and Pretty Boy to take the rest of the week off. Spend some time with your sister and your friends. You start with the NYPD on Monday. They want you to stay in the city, but they'll take care of your housing, so it won't cost you or me a pretty penny. The duration of your time spent there will depend on the length of the case. Swing by my office first thing on Monday before you head into the city." Haymitch hangs up without saying goodbye, though I can't say that I'm surprised.

Moving Prim's schoolwork to the coffee table, I plop down on the sofa cushion beside her and prop my feet up. We watch an hour of some sitcom that I've never heard of before, but that Prim insists is one of her favorites. Afterwards, I give Gale a quick call and make plans to go hiking with him tomorrow.

It quickly becomes apparent that after all the sleep I got earlier, I'm going to be up all night. With a heavy sigh, I throw a fuzzy white robe over my simple cotton pajamas to stave off the cold. After an intense Netflix marathon of catching up on House of Cards and White Collar, I finally feel ready to get some shut eye. Unfortunately, I told Gale that I would meet him in less than an hour.

* * *

Gale is tense as we pick our way through the slightly overgrown path, and I can practically feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

"What's eating you, Gilbert Grape?"

"Ha-ha," he deadpans, "There's nothing wrong. I'm fine."

I narrow my eyes at him. "No you're not. Your stress is stressing me out, so spill it."

He's quiet for a long moment and then, "Why are you really going to NYC? You've spent your whole life in dinky little Panem and suddenly you want to experience city life with _Finnick Odair_ of all people? And you have no idea when you'll be home? I'm not buying it."

"First of all, don't talk about Finnick like he's the scum of the earth. He's a good guy, Gale, and he's my partner. And second…" I hesitate, unsure of whether I should continue. The look in Gale's eyes tells me that he's not going to let the subject drop, so I forge on ahead. "I'm not supposed to say anything, so you need to keep your trap shut about this. The NYPD is taking over the case on Peeta Mellark because they got a new lead. Finnick and I are assisting on the case.

Gale nearly chokes on the sip of water he was taking. I watch as his whole body goes rigid and then relaxes again. He nods absently a few times, digesting this new piece of information.

"Be careful, okay? You're smart, so don't get caught up in anything dangerous trying to save someone you don't even know."

I know that in Gale's mind he's just looking out for me, but I feel the irritation flare up inside me all the same. "I'm not a little kid, Gale. I can take care of myself, and I'll do whatever it takes to do my job." I turn and practically sprint out of the woods, ignoring him as he calls my name.

* * *

A day goes by with no word from Gale, but he shows up at my door while I'm getting ready to go out with Madge, Johanna, and Delly. He doesn't apologize, but I don't expect him to either. We're both too stubborn for that. I leave shortly after he does and brace myself for the painful night ahead of me.

I spend most of the evening tugging down the skirt of my dress. The red, skin tight little number that Johanna forced me into is way out of my comfort zone. I do my best to ignore the lustful leers sent my way, but I do accept the free drinks. Anything to tune out Delly's incessant babbling. Jo ditches us almost as soon as we arrive at the club. She spends most of the night out on the dance floor while Madge and I linger by the bar and Delly chatters on obliviously. The more I drink, the more I feel myself loosen up. At one point, Madge even convinces me to dance. I only last a song or two before grabbing a stool at the bar again and slipping off my horrendous heels. Who ever thought that four inch stilettos were a good idea?

Sunday morning greets me with a raging hangover. This is why I never go out. I stay in bed until noon, and then only get up because it's my last day with Prim. I feel really bad that I'm leaving while she's still home from break, but she insisted that she wanted to spend time with our mother anyway. Out of guilt, I let her drag me to the mall and then treat her to dinner at her favorite restaurant, P.F. Chang's.

* * *

I'm a ball of nerves by the time Monday morning rolls around. Smoothing down my shirt, I sit down in Haymitch's office and barely restrain myself from tapping my foot. Haymitch greets me with a nod of his head and leans back further in his chair.

"There's not a whole lot left to say," he tells me. "They'll debrief you when you get there. Alma is expecting the two of you at ten. The pace is a lot faster there. Just keep your head in the game and stay alive."

If he means for his words to be encouraging, they have the opposite effect. I rush out of his office even more tightly wound than when I entered it. Even Finnick is unusually quiet on the ride into the city.

The traffic in NYC is unlike anything I've experienced before. The cars are bumper to bumper and people crowd the sidewalks all around. Haymitch was right; this is definitely a change of pace.

"Oh, screw you!" I shout as a taxi cab cuts me off. Finnick chuckles from the passenger seat. "What? He was rude."

"Everyone in New York City is rude."

"Well, the city is not making a great first impression then," I grumble. I can feel Finnick's eyes boring into the side of my head. "What?"

"Are you telling me that you've lived your entire life less than an hour away from NYC, and you've never been before?"

I shrug. "There was no reason to."

As we drive it becomes obvious that street parking is practically impossible in this city. I'm increasingly grateful for the NYPD parking garage pass that Haymitch gave me before we left. I spot the tall building a few blocks away and maneuver the car into a dark garage. Even in here, it takes almost twenty minutes to find an empty parking spot.

I climb out of the car carefully and, taking a deep breath, follow Finnick into the building. Here goes nothing.

* * *

**A/N: **Yay! So I cranked this out pretty fast. Who needs sleep when you can write instead? Updates probably won't come again this fast in the future, but we'll see. I also can't make any promises about chapter length. My goal is somewhere around 2K words per chapter.

My feelings on this chapter are a little mixed. I think that the middle section was kind of boring, but I promise that I'm working towards the good stuff. Reviews are greatly appreciated. The good, the bad, and the ugly, so don't hold back! I really want to hear what you all are thinking. Huge thanks to everyone who has already added this story to their favorites, followed, or reviewed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to The Hunger Games or any other recognizable element of this story. **

* * *

Finnick and I are greeted by a tall woman as soon as we enter the NYPD headquarters. She introduces herself to us as the police commissioner of the NYPD, Alma Coin, and then proceeds to inform us that we are three minutes late. _Three minutes. _I hate this woman already.

Thankfully, before I can say anything that I might regret later, Finnick jumps in with all of his usual charm and then some. "We're very sorry. It won't happen again. My partner, Officer Everdeen, and I are very grateful to be on this case, and so pleased to meet you."

Even Finnick's usual penchant for brown nosing isn't enough to win her over. He extends his hand to shake hers, but Coin ignores the gesture. I can't hide the disgust on my face at her complete lack of tact. Finnick drops his hand but his smile remains intact, if a little smaller.

Coin fixes her cold eyes directly on me as she speaks. I try to suppress the slight shiver than runs down my spine under her harsh scrutiny. The last thing I want is for her to think she has an effect on me. "I want to make it abundantly clear to you that you are here because I owe Sherriff Abernathy a favor, and because it will be good for publicity to have officers from the victim's hometown working the case. One wrong move and I will not hesitate to have you both removed from this case and sent home within the hour." I swallow thickly, but she continues on. "Detective Boggs is the lead detective assigned to this case. He's expecting you in his office." Coin brushes past us without another word. I consider calling out to her to find out where in the hell Detective Boggs' office is, but I decide that it's not worth dealing with her again.

I frown at Finnick and he shrugs. Then, pulling himself up and setting his back ramrod straight, he launches into a terrible impression of Alma Coin that leaves me reduced to a snorting mess. I shake my head at his antics. This assignment is already shaping up to be hell, but at least I've got Finnick here to make it a little bit more bearable.

We stand near the door aimlessly for a moment, looking pitifully lost. I survey the room to scope out someone who could give us directions. My gaze lands on the only other person in the room who isn't hurriedly bustling about; a young brunette woman clutching her coffee with white knuckles and staring blankly at the wall. She jumps when I approach her, a nervous look in her eyes.

"Sorry to bother you. I'm looking for Detective Boggs' office. You wouldn't happen to know where that is, would you?"

"Oh, no. I'm not a member of the NYPD. I'm actually a homicide witness. My name is Annie Cresta." Her voice cracks and the hand that she offers is shaky, but I pretend not to notice.

"Thanks anyway, Ms. Cresta," I tell her, trying my hardest to keep the sound of pity out of my voice. I can't even begin to imagine what witnessing a homicide would be like. I can only hope for her sake that she didn't know the victim.

Finnick manages to find someone who knows where Boggs' office is, and before I know it we're standing just outside of his door. He reaches out to knock but I stop him. I pause for a moment and take a deep breath, trying in vain to mentally prepare myself. I've been anxiously waiting for this moment ever since Haymitch first informed us that there was a new lead on the case, but I suddenly feel an inexplicable bout of nervousness wash over me. Sucking in another lungful of air, I finally lean forward and rap on the door twice.

Hardly a moment passes before the door swings open to reveal an imposing man. This guy is seriously built and his hair is cropped in a short buzz cut. The first thing that pops into my mind is G.I. Joe. I'm immediately wary of him after our less than stellar first meeting with Coin. He steps aside and welcomes us into his office. The room is tiny, though I suppose space is a lot harder to come by in the city than out in the country. His office is furnished with only a filing cabinet, a desk adorned with framed pictures of what I assume to be his family, and a couple of chairs.

I take my seat gingerly and watch from the corner of my eye as Finnick does the same. I feel a little bit better knowing that he's feeling as uneasy as I am. I try to keep my nervous fidgeting to a minimum as I allow my gaze to rake over everything in the room once more. Upon closer inspection of one of the photographs on his desk, I see that Detective Boggs is standing in the back of the picture and looking lovingly towards a pretty woman with a small but genuine smile gracing his features. Perhaps he isn't quite as stoic as I originally thought.

"Before we delve into the details of the case," Boggs begins, "I want to thank you both for your assistance. Extra manpower is always appreciated."

"Oh," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "I thought that our presence here wasn't exactly wanted." My voice is tinged with mild surprise.

"Ah, so you've already met Alma Coin. She had some… reservations, but we have differing viewpoints on the matter. Now let's get down to business, shall we?"

There's an anxious fluttering in my stomach as I nod eagerly. Detective Boggs reaches for the manila folder on his desk that I've been eying since I stepped inside.

"Thanks to the tip that we received a few days ago, we now have confirmation that Peeta Mellark is alive. We also have a suspect for his kidnapping."

"That's great!" Finnick exclaims.

Boggs sighs and runs the flat of his palm over his closely cropped hair. "His name is Cornelius Snow. We believe him to be linked to the kidnappings of dozens of other children, all between the ages of twelve and eighteen." He opens the folder and pushes it across the desk towards where Finnick and I are seated. It's filled with pictures of children. I think I'm going to be sick. "Age and location are the only connections we can find. All of the victims related to this case have come from up and down the East Coast. Most lived in the Washington D.C. suburbs, but his reach seems to extend all the way from Virginia to New York."

I nod absently while I mull everything over. "Why haven't you taken this guy down yet?"

"Mr. Snow is the Bulgarian ambassador to the United States. He has full diplomatic immunity." My breath catches in my chest. This is bad. Really, _really_ bad. "It's unlikely that he's running this operation alone. Our best hope is to find a connection to an American citizen that he's working with. We're very limited in what we can do without overstepping Snow's rights."

"Can't his immunity be waived?" Finnick questions.

"We suspect that Snow is linked to the disappearances of these children, but we're lacking the evidence to prove it, which means that we can't take any action against him."

"And you can't collect that evidence because of his immunity."

Boggs nods emphatically, seemingly pleased with our basic understanding of the concept.

I speak up for the first time in a while. It's surprising that I'm even able to force any words out. "Is Snow in the country right now?"

"He returned to Bulgaria a little over a month ago. Due to the nature of job, he'll be back in the U.S. soon."

I'm thoughtful for a moment. "But Peeta was spotted less than a week ago."

"Based on the number of suspected kidnappings and a few other factors, we have reason to believe that this is a case of human trafficking."

"Oh my god. _Oh my god._" I really am going to be sick.

"Wait," Finnick interjects, "Human trafficking?! There has to be a way around his immunity!"

"Believe me when I tell you that I'm doing everything that I can, but it's a long process and the evidence to make this happen is lacking."

"What about Peeta? I'm here to find him, not take down a major underground operation. I can't… I'm not… I'm definitely not cut out for that." This is way more than the signed up for. I just want to bring Peeta home.

"I can assure you that Peeta Mellark is our priority. At this point in time, we are not looking to take down Snow. Our focus is still on finding Mr. Mellark."

We continue to discuss details of the case for the rest of the day, working straight through lunch. By the time Finnick and I have learned all that there is to possibly know about Peeta's case, it's nearly seven o'clock.

* * *

My stomach rumbles loudly in the elevator as we make our way down several levels and back to the parking garage. "I could really go for a nice, juicy burger right now," I tell Finnick. "No, wait— make it an extra-large meat lover's pizza. Mmmm, yes."

He licks his lips in response. "New York City does have the best pizza. I know a great little place we can stop at."

Half an hour later, Finnick and I are sitting in a booth at a hole in the wall pizza parlor, and I'm scarfing down my third piece of pizza. The grease is running down my forearm and I'm pretty sure my eyes loll back as I take a huge bite. This pizza is pure heaven. I polish off a grand total of five slices before we leave. I'm pretty sure that Finnick at least doubles my intake.

Now that our stomachs' are full-or rather stuffed, we're both feeling pretty tired. Our hotel is apparently just outside of the city so we decide that we should head there now since we're not sure how long of a drive it is.

* * *

"Are you sure that this is the right place?" I ask Finnick as we pull up in front of a weathered little building. The parking lot is practically deserted, and the sign hanging above the place appears to have once read simply: "Motel", but all of the letters, save O and L, have burned out.

Finnick glances towards the paper in his hand. "This is the address Haymitch gave me."

I cough at the stench of the lobby. It's indiscernible- among the various odors, I'm able to pick out cigarettes and strong, obviously ineffective, cleaning supplies, but there's clearly more at play here than just that. Making my way over to the check in, I find that the guy behind the desk is actually asleep.

My opinion of the place continues to dwindle as we discover that the elevator is out of service and I have to drag all of my bags up three flights of stairs. After two separate trips, I want nothing more than to just turn in for the night.

Finnick and I have adjacent rooms, although broom closet may be a more fitting description. I'm not sure whether to be impressed that the place actually has a sleeper sofa, or disgusted by the very questionable looking stains littering the cushions. This is totally the kind of place where people get murdered. After checking for bedbugs, I settle into the bed and do my best to not think about what may or may not have happened on this lumpy mattress.

The guilt hits me like a punch to the gut in the morning. While I was out enjoying myself last night and stuffing my face with pizza, Peeta was being forced to do god only knows what. I'm a terrible, selfish person. A glance at the bedside clock tells me that I still have an hour before I need to be awake, but I'm already up and ready to go. I stretch out my limbs and crack my back before setting to the task of unpacking everything that I brought.

After that's finished, I take the quickest shower of my life- apparently this place doesn't have hot water- and zip down the hall to Finnick's room. He looks a little disheveled when he answers the door, and I realize that I must have woken him. "Oops, sorry," I apologize, but we both know that I don't mean it. I've always been an early riser, and over the years, Finnick has learned to deal with me picking him up early for work when it's my week for carpool.

He opens the door wider so that I can step inside. His living space is identical to mine, but he's already managed to make a slob out of himself. Finnick's clothes are strewn in a heap on the floor, and one of the couch cushions has also found its way onto the ground.

"Go get dressed so that we can get to work a little early," I instruct, bouncing on my heels at the prospect of making a sizable dent in Peeta's case.

"Ever the slave driver," he mumbles, clearly still half asleep. I perch on the end of his bed while he changes in the bathroom.

At work, Finnick and I are given our own shared cubicle. It might not be much, but I relish in the fact that they've already given us something that belongs to just us. We work in near silence; steadfastly trying to find any link to someone we can actually investigate. The day passes without any progress, as does the next, and the one following that. With each passing day, I feel Peeta falling further and further from our grasp. I feel like I've failed him already.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. **

* * *

Boggs pops his head into our cubicle just as I look up from Peeta's file, which I'm currently perusing for the thousandth time this morning.

"Team meeting in five," he informs us before walking off.

I turn to Finnick as soon as Boggs is out of earshot. "Ugh, I do not feel like dealing with this today. Play hooky with me?"

He laughs. "I wish, but Madam President is waiting. Shall we?"

Finnick and I have taken to mockingly referring to Coin as "Madam President" when no one else is around. I do my best to avoid her at all costs, but she makes it difficult with these dumb team meetings. They're a complete waste of time. In fact, I think Coin only holds them so that she can assert her authority on a daily basis. She's one of the most power hungry people I've met, which is ridiculous because she's already in charge of the entire precinct. What's next? World domination? Actually, I wouldn't put it past her.

I groan in weak protest as Finnick grabs my arm and pulls me up from my cushy, lumbar support offering, heaven on wheels desk chair. Its unheard of level of comfort only multiplies my desire to stay where I am instead of dealing with Coin. Alright, at this point, I might just be making excuses. My chair isn't that great.

Everyone looks up when we enter the room and I barely contain my sigh. Finnick and I are two minutes early and we're still the last ones to arrive. Coin makes a snide comment about us finally being prompt that forces me to bite my tongue. We haven't been late since our first day, and even that's debatable, but she still hasn't let it go.

I wince as the bright florescent lighting assaults my eyes. This room is my least favorite in the building, and not just because it's Coin's main hub. One of the lights flickers like a strobe incessantly, never failing to bring on a killer headache; there's a strange, inexplicable cheese smell all of the time; and the room has its own thermostat, which means that Coin can keep it at a temperature as frigid as she is. I tug my sleeves down over my hands and wrap my arms around my middle tightly.

Coin calls us all to attention just as Finnick and I take our seats. I try to focus on what she's saying, but I can't say that I do a very good job. It's not like she's talking about anything important anyway. Instead I let my mind wander. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Finnick and I are driving home after work, spending one night in Panem, and heading back to the city after Christmas dinner with our families. I'm dying to see Prim. This is probably my last chance to spend time with her before she goes back to college. I still haven't figured out what to get her though. I've always been a last minute shopper, but this is pushing it, even for me. I ponder various gift options until the sound of my name brings me back to the present.

"Officer Everdeen? What do you think?"

My head jerks up. "Ummm…"

"Publicity," Finnick mouths to me as inconspicuously as he can.

_Not this again. _Coin has been trying to convince me to sit down for an interview with the press all week, and I've been steadfastly refusing. I have no interest in talking to a bunch of strangers about why this case is important to me, and I certainly don't want anyone to recognize me while I'm grocery shopping. That had been one of Coin's main selling points, which is completely ridiculous. First of all, I highly doubt that would ever actually happen, and second, I can't imagine ever wanting it to. My private life is private for a reason.

"Why can't Finnick speak with the press? He's from Panem too, and he's a whole lot more charming on his worst days than I'll ever hope to be on my best."

Coin nods. "Yes, that is true." One day I am going to strangle this woman. Just because I said it, doesn't mean she should agree with me. "However, Finnick didn't know Peeta personally."

"Neither did I!"

"Were you not in the same year of school?"

"Well, yeah, but we never talked. We shared a few classes over the years and that was it." The lie pinches at my gut, but I ignore the feeling.

"Then make something up for all I care. You could help generate a lot of interest from the public, which could mean better funding to the department, _and_ to this specific case."

My mind whirs as I try to make sense of her words."Are you saying that you'll put more resources into finding Peeta if I do this?" She nods once. "Alright, I'll do it then."

The smug smirk on Coin's face, quite possibly the first positive facial expression I've seen her make, is almost enough to make me change my mind. She allows us to return to work shortly thereafter, apparently satisfied with her bribery skills.

* * *

Finnick mutters a curse under his breath as he settles back into his chair and bumps his knees against our shared desk.

"Being tall is the worst."

"At least you can always reach the top shelf." I feel mortification wash over me all over again as I recall the time I was jumping to reach the apples in the grocery store and ended up toppling the whole fruit stand.

"I'm a jerk if I don't stand in the back of a crowd, there's _never_ enough leg room, and I can't be a professional jockey."

"You want to be a jockey?" This is news to me. As far as I know, Finnick has never actually met a real horse.

"Well, no. But I'd like the option," he says, cracking a goofy, lopsided smile.

"You are too much. Now get back to work." I'm only half joking as I shove his shoulder. He barely even budges.

The next few hours drag on with no new developments. I insist that we eat lunch at our desk so that we can work through, much to Finnick's chagrin. Finnick finally tells me that he's going to grab us some much needed coffee and be back shortly. I'm hesitant to agree, but I could really use the caffeine.

I grow increasingly agitated as the minutes fly by. Finnick should be back working on this case by now, because at the rate we're going, we'll never find Peeta. Panic sets in, and by the time Finnick returns, I'm at my breaking point.

"Good Lord, Finnick. It took you an hour to go on a 'five minute coffee run'," I snap, quoting his words from earlier. "What gives?"

"I ran into someone. Um, are you okay?"

"Not really."

My anger dissipates and I slump down in my chair. I'm beyond exhausted. I lie awake all night thinking about Peeta's case, and then throw everything I have into it at work. Hot tears burn at the back of my eyes but I blink them back. I am Katniss Everdeen, goddammit. I haven't cried since my dad died when I was eleven, and I'm not about to start now.

"Hey, it's ok. Talk to me, Katniss."

"I just… this case… and I'm so homesick. I hate this city. Everyone is so rude and so_ fake_. Prim calls almost every night, but Gale hasn't even picked up once. Christmas is in two days. And it's been a week and a half since Haymitch called us into his office. What have we accomplished? Absolutely nothing." I can feel the hysteria bubbling up. I swear I'm going to solve this case or die trying, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if the latter scenario is more likely. All I want is to find Peeta. I _need_ to find Peeta.

"Would it help to run through the details of the case again?"

"I feel bad. I make you talk over the case with me a hundred times a day."

"But it helps, right?" I nod. "Then take it from the top."

"Thank you," I tell him, laying my hand on his forearm. He offers a small smile in return. We've discussed every last detail about Peeta's case so many times that I could recite it in my sleep. "Peeta Mellark was reported missing on April 17, 2009 when he didn't return home from school. Peeta usually walked home with his older brother, but he was alone that day because Andrew Mellark was out sick. Our assumption is that he was lured into a car on the side of the highway that passes through town, but there were no witnesses. There was no trace of Peeta until he was spotted ten days ago here in New York City."

Peeta's location was a large factor in Haymitch's decision to have the case transferred to our neighboring precinct. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but the case was only transferred on the condition that I still assist on it. And being a part of a potential case of human trafficking, I guess Coin decided that it was worth it. Haymitch and I have never discussed Peeta's kidnapping before, but he always surprises me with the little things he picks up on. Like how he knew that I not only needed to be on this case, but that I also needed Finnick with me.

"Keep going," Finnick prompts.

"Okay, this is where we really need to focus. Our anonymous informant told us he was a trash collector. Let's just call him TC again for the sake of convenience. TC claims to have spotted Peeta in an alley behind South Broadway while emptying a dumpster. He gave us a time stamp of about 5:00 A.M., at least a good half hour before sunrise. TC reported Peeta's behavior as being 'oddly skittish' and said that Peeta had been in a crouched position with his hands covering the back of his neck. TC also reported seeing possible facial bruising, but couldn't be sure due to the lack of light. He thought that Peeta looked familiar, but wasn't able to place him until sometime around the same time the next day, at which point he immediately called the NYPD, who got in contact with Haymitch. Then Haymitch called us in, told us we were giving the case to the NYPD, and now here we are."

Finnick nods thoughtfully. "We're missing something. I wish TC had been more specific, given us some more details to work with or called sooner. By the time the next day rolled around, Peeta was long gone and a police search of the nearby buildings didn't turn anything up."

"Here's what I don't understand: Why would TC want to remain anonymous to the police? If he's got nothing to hide, why not give us his name? An innocent man wouldn't need to protect himself against Law Enforcement."

"I doubt he's trying to protect himself against us. He probably just doesn't want the bad guys to get word of him giving us information. This human trafficking stuff is seedy. I wouldn't want to mess with those guys either."

"And yet here you are," I tell him dryly. "But how would the 'bad guys' find out about TC's involvement. We certainly wouldn't tell them. And the public doesn't know that these kidnappings are related. Human trafficking wouldn't even cross their minds. The only way TC would know about any of it and have any reason to be afraid would be if he were somehow involved."

"Or he's just a paranoid guy. A kidnapping is still a big deal. Come on, Katniss, he's our witness, not a suspect. TC is helping us out here."

"Unless he's feeding us incorrect information; diverting our attention while whatever is going on happens right beneath our noses. "

"That doesn't even make any sense. Why would he bring it up at all? The case has been cold for almost six years. He was pretty much in the clear."

I huff and undo my braid. It always helps to run my fingers through my hair when I'm thinking. I wince when one of my fingers gets snagged on a tangle. "I don't know. Like I said, maybe it's a diversion. I just have a feeling about this, Finnick."

"But why call in a tip about Peeta Mellark?" Finnick shakes his head. "There were so many other kids in that file. At least one of them had to be from New York City. TC wouldn't have known that Haymitch would transfer the case to the NYPD."

"He called the NYPD first. Maybe he didn't know Peeta was originally from Panem," I try to reason, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

"No. If TC was actually part of a human trafficking group, he'd be smarter than that."

"Maybe the NYPD isn't who they were trying to distract. Maybe there's something going down in Panem."

"Or maybe you've been watching too many crime shows."

"Finnick!" If looks could kill, he would be deader than a doornail.

"I'm sorry. This all just seems… a little farfetched. But if you really have a hunch, I'll back you up. You know that, right? I'll always have your back."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Finnick."

"This is the part where you're supposed to return the sentiment."

"Shut up," I tell him, but I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sorry for the super long wait, everyone! In an effort to make it up to you a little bit, this is the longest chapter yet :)

MissLoremasterSarah brought up a really good point in her review of chapter three. My reasoning for putting Katniss and Finnick in such a grand living arrangement was that I saw New York as an equivalent to the capitol, but the correlation is clearly lacking. I can see how it would be a little unrealistic for them to have such nice hotel rooms, so I went ahead and made some changes to their hotel. They don't impact the overall storyline, so it's not necessary to reread that chapter, although references to their hotel rooms will be made.

Anyway, thanks to MissLoremasterSarah, lizzy29629, whose sweet reviews always make my day, and everyone else who reviewed, followed, or added this story to their favorites. Oh, and in case you haven't noticed by now, I don't own The Hunger Games.

* * *

"…and so we think that they were trying to overwhelm the Panem police department, to have us focus all of our resources on a wild goose chase. Our finest would be sent to the city, and they probably assumed that Haymitch would be all tied up. I mean, where better to hide than in plain sight?" I question Boggs as I finish filling him in on everything that Finnick and I just discussed.

"Officer Everdeen… it's not unheard of to receive an anonymous tip. It doesn't necessarily mean anything." Boggs looks more than a little disappointed. I probably jumped the gun a little with my enthusiasm, but I'm sure that there's something here. There_ has_ to be something here.

"But what if it does? Can we trace the call back to the phone it was made from?"

"We can, but we won't. We need to respect this man's desire for privacy. It's the whole point of an anonymous tip. This guy did us a favor by telling us what he knows, but he doesn't want to be dragged into the whole process. It's understandable for him to not leave a name."

"No, it's not_ understandable_! We're talking about human trafficking! Do you have any idea how big of a deal this is?!" Boggs raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, I didn't mean that," I squeak out in an effort to backtrack.

"What do you want me to do? Track down and interrogate an innocent man?"

"Why are you so convinced that he's innocent? You're the one who told me that being suspicious of everyone and everything is part of the job description."

A pregnant silence hangs between us, sucking all of the air out of the room until I feel certain that suffocation is an imminent danger. Boggs doesn't respond for so long that I almost ask if he wants me to leave. "Alright, I'll see what I can do-" he finally acquiesces.

"Thank you!"

"But don't get your hopes up. There's probably nothing behind this." He leans forward and places his elbows on the desk, thick fingers laced together tightly. Everything about his posture is a mixture of anxiety and dejection. I suppose that this case is wearing him down almost as much as it is me. My nod must not be convincing enough, because he gives me a stern look. "I'm serious."

"Okay. I promise not to get too excited about this," I tell him, turning to leave. I'm halfway out the door when I turn around again. "Thank you."

* * *

I feel like I'm just biding my time for the next few hours. Finnick and I continue to look for more clues in Peeta's file, but right now our best hope is to find out more from our anonymous informant.

"So who did you run into while you were getting coffee this morning?" I ask Finnick when my eyes start to shift in and out of focus from staring at the page in front of me for so long.

"Oh, um, do you remember that girl that you talked to on our first day here? Her name is Annie. I knew her back when my family lived in the city."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I wasn't sure that it was her until I ran into Annie at Starbuck's today. I moved in with Mags when I was fourteen; it's been almost fifteen years since I last saw her. She's a lot different now."

I try to weasel more out of him, but I don't get much. I'm itching to learn more, but I figure that he'll share when he's ready— besides, work probably isn't the best place for soul- baring conversations anyway. Well, as close to soul-baring as we can get anyway. Feelings in general aren't my forte and Finnick excels hiding his.

The only thing I learn about Annie is that she was Finnick's childhood best friend and that their connection was far from instant— apparently they met during the age when cooties were a very real threat, and Finnick refused to touch her with a ten foot pole for months.

I try to put this snippet of information in context with what I already know. Finnick moved to Panem to live with his grandma, Mags, as he lovingly refers to her, during his freshman year of high school when his family died in a freak—albeit suspicious— boating accident. New people in Panem are a rarity, which made Finnick the object of much speculation, even all the way down in the elementary school. When we became partners after I graduated and joined Panem's police department, Finnick filled me in on the missing details. I know that it was a very dark time in his life, but he didn't have any trouble fitting in. Finnick has a charisma about him that draws people in like bears to honey.

"Do you think you and Annie will rekindle your friendship?"

"I think—" But I never get to find out the answer to my question, because just then Cressida, another important detective on this case, comes racing towards us.

"We've got a team meeting, ASAP."

"Another one? Are you freaking kidding me? Coin already had one today!" I exclaim. She gives me a sharp look as a warning to reel in my irritation, but I've just about had it today. I'm not sure I could control myself even if I tried. Buckling to Coin's will and agreeing to do an interview with the press is still a sore spot, and the absolute last thing I want to do right now is sit by while she gloats over her victory.

"Boggs called this one," Cressida informs me with an impatient huff.

This gets my attention— If Boggs called it, then it must be important. I can't help but hope that he's already figured out who TC is. We follow Cressida to the team meeting room in record time. Boggs is already speaking rapidly when we enter.

"We just received another tip about Peeta Mellark," he announces, and I swear the Earth stops spinning for just a fraction of a second. "A maintenance worker at a high rise condo building on the upper West Side called and reported seeing him in the penthouse suite. Detective Cressida, I want you on the scene with Officers Everdeen and Odair."

My heart skips a beat, or maybe two, and I can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I think of the stories of mothers lifting cars off of their babies; the way I'm feeling right now, I'm almost certain that I could lift a whole bus.

Cressida takes a quick moment to secure the address of the condo, and then we're on our way. Finnick and I tail her in a separate police car, sirens wailing madly. With the exception of a few belligerent taxis just begging for a ticket, the traffic around us parts like the red sea.

A number of emotions well up within me, all fighting for dominance. It's incredibly exhilarating to be headed towards what may be my first true crime scene. It's also terrifying. I remove one of my hands from the steering wheel for just a moment to touch the gun holstered at my hip as the nervousness begins to win over. There's something incredibly reassuring about being armed. Excitement builds again, and I allow myself to feel just a smidgeon of hope that we could be just minutes away from finding Peeta.

Despite flying through the streets at a speed much faster than the posted limit, it feels like the longest drive of my life.

Finnick and I have hardly spoken a word since Boggs' meeting. He gives my arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping out of the car. My knuckles are still white, fingers locked in a death grip around the steering wheel. I take a deep breath, hold it for a few moments, and force myself to get a grip.

Cressida and Finnick are speaking in hushed tones but fall silent as I approach. Under normal circumstances my curiosity would get the best of me and I would badger Finnick until he told me what they were discussing, especially because I have a sneaking suspicion that I was the subject of their conversation, but I can't even bring myself to care at the moment.

The grandeur of the building is breathtaking. A doorman holds open the entrance as we pass through, and even in my frenzied state my eyes soak up every detail of the richly furnished lobby. The décor is a mix of modern and classical elements; gold gilding and sleek edges. It's stunning.

Finnick and I stand to the side passively as Cressida flashes her badge and explains to the concierge why we're here. The young man nods emphatically, enraptured by her succinct recount of the case and our latest tip. This is most likely the most excitement his career has ever held—it certainly is for me.

We don't waste any time making our way to the penthouse. There's no telling what we may or may not find, and every passing second could mean the difference between finding Peeta. I haven't completely abandoned my original theory, but I am hopeful about this tip.

I catch sight of myself in the reflective surface of the elevator doors and realize what a hot mess I look like, especially next to Cressida who always looks calm and collected— although this _is_ what she does for a living—and Finnick, who oozes confidence in his sleep. Large sections of hair are falling out of my braid, but my fingers are too shaky to redo it.

My adrenaline builds with each floor that the elevator overtakes, and fight or flight instincts begin to kick in. Fists clenched and muscles tight, I'm ready to pounce. When a twitch begins to pull at my left eye, I force myself to relax just a tad. I'm straddling that fine line between being ready for anything and being just plain crazy.

Cressida draws her gun and Finnick and I follow in suit. The elevator doors open directly into a lavish living room.

"NYPD! Anyone here?" Cressida shouts. Her question is greeted with an eerie silence. She waives a hand in silent signal for us to follow, and, guns raised, we move swiftly towards the kitchen. The room is incredibly immaculate; not a single object is out of place. We split up in order to search the other rooms in the condo, though I have a feeling that no one is here.

I'm just finishing in the master bedroom when I hear Finnick call to Cressida about checking out something in the bathroom. His tone sets my teeth on edge. I'm unnerved because I can't tell whether his voice holds hope or horror- perhaps a little of both? Upon arriving, I immediately understand why.

The walls are covered in blood spatter.

I stand completely frozen in shock and horror as Cressida bustles about, murmuring under her breath about DNA tests and evidence and hopefully getting a fingerprint. Should I be happy right now? Logic dictates that I should—this just means that we're one step closer to finding Peeta. But instead, I feel an impending sense of doom. I shouldn't be surprised to find blood. It would be an understatement to say that I knew Peeta wasn't being treated well, but there's something about being face to face with the evidence of his abuse that changes everything so completely.

What if he's dead? What if we are too late to save him? What if I spend the rest of my life owing this boy?

I can't tear my eyes away from the blood on the walls. I have no idea how long I've been standing here, but I imagine it's been a while because Finnick is gently tugging at my arm and telling me that it's time to leave. I hear the words he's speaking, but they're not really registering. Sometime in the last few minutes, my feet became as heavy as lead.

Finally, Finnick coaxes me out of the bathroom and back into the gloriously luxurious condo. Standing out here, bathed in the soft glow of a crystal chandelier and natural light from the floor to ceiling windows, you would never suspect the horrific sight in the bathroom. From out here, this place seems like nothing more than a swanky condo: elaborate to the point of no longer feeling homey, but so pristine that you couldn't possible suspect it as a crime scene.

* * *

Against my better judgment, I let Finnick take the wheel on the way back to the precinct. It's not even a question really. He just guides me over to the passenger side, and I sit down without protest.

"So you know what I think?" Finnick asks as he buckles his seatbelt. I give a slight shake of my head, so imperceptible that I would be surprised if he actually saw it. He continues anyway. "I think that the butler did it." I try to smile, but it comes out more of a grimace.

I'm grateful that Finnick doesn't try to crack any more jokes after that. I appreciate the effort he's making to cheer me up, but it's hitting too close to home right now. For the rest of the ride, I stare silently out the window and watch the buildings zoom by, wondering what secrets they might harbor.

I feel and inexplicable sense of relief as Finnick pulls into the parking garage. Somehow, even the sun shining feels wrong right now. Finnick kills the engine after finding a spot—surprisingly with relative ease—but I don't move from my seat until he comes around the side of the car and opens the passenger door. I mumble out a small thanks and he nods.

Under normal circumstances I would be loathe to have anyone get my car door for me. Today, I'm nothing but grateful.

Cressida is parked near us and the three of us walk into the building together. Without any prompting, she assures me over and over that the diagnostics for the blood will be back by tomorrow morning, and that we likely got at least a partial fingerprint as well.

Boggs flags us down the moment we step into the building, and we all cram inside of his tiny office. "I've already gone over this with Coin and the rest of the team. We had a new development while you were out," he begins. My stomach twists in anticipation. "I traced the calls from both of our anonymous informants, and found that they were made from two separate burner phones."

"Were you able to trace the purchases?" Cressida asks.

Boggs nods. "Yep, and you were right, Katniss. Both phones were purchased by the same man, and he's no garbage man or maintenance worker. Our anonymous tipper is Plutarch Heavensbee. I pulled up all the files on him and he seems to be rolling in money. There's no indication as to how he got so rich. His family doesn't come from money, and he doesn't have a high paying job. It's quite suspicious. I'm bringing him in tomorrow morning for questioning. As for the findings you told me about over the phone, Cressida, I've already got guys running tests on the evidence."

I realize that I've been holding my breath when I feel a dull burning sensation in my lungs, and I quickly let out the pent up air. Finally we're making progress. Everything is happening all at once, and it's more than a little overwhelming, but _finally, _it's happening.

Boggs tells us that there's not much else we can do tonight, so Finnick and I head out. Finnick suggests celebratory ice cream and I concede because even though I can't shake the image of blood covering the walls, I'm feeling pretty good about everything else that's happened today.

To my annoyance, Finnick debates on which flavor to get for a good five minutes, even holding up the line. I order chocolate like always. You can't go wrong with a classic. Finnick winds up getting bubble gum, or cotton candy, or some other sickeningly sweet flavor. It almost makes me sick to watch him eat it.

* * *

Back at the motel, Finnick joins me in my room and we surf through the channels on the crappy little TV that sits across from the bed. There are only a few channels, and none of them are playing anything worth watching.

Finnick sits up suddenly. "Why don't we go out and do something?"

"I don't know, Finnick…" I begin to protest, but I drop off because I can't really remember the last time Finnick and I did something non-work related together. One, two weeks before we came to New York? It's only seven o'clock, plenty early to go do something. "What do you have in mind?"

Finnick flashes a devilish grin and tells me that he wants it to be a surprise. My gut tells me to proceed with caution. Nothing good ever comes from the expression on his face, but I go along with it anyway. I owe myself a little spontaneity.

* * *

"Oh, hell no! Finnick, we are _not_ doing go-karts."

Finnick has been trying for past year to get me to do go-karts with him for the past year or so. I made an offhand comment once about having never been, and he's made it his personal mission to take me ever since.

"Live a little, Everdeen!" he tells me with a chuckle.

"This is ridiculous."

"Give me one good reason why we shouldn't have a little fun tonight," he challenges.

"Where to start? For one thing, go-karts are not fun. For another, it's an outdoor activity and I'm pretty sure I just saw a_ snowflake_. We are going to freeze to death out there! And, oh yeah, it's dark out. Is that enough for you?"

"Jeez, I said one reason. And none of those are any good. You don't know that go-karts aren't fun until you try them; you've got on a winter coat, scarf, and gloves—you'll be fine outside; and, the track has lights, so it doesn't matter that the sun has already gone down."

At this point, it's just a battle of the wills. Between the two of us, there's no question that I'm more stubborn, but there's also an itsy-bitsy little part of me that actually wants to try it. I've spent the last year resisting though, and if I give in now, it's a win for Finnick.

"Not a chance. I still need to get Prim a Christmas gift. Let's go to the mall instead."

"I don't want to go shopping!"

"And you think I do?" I give him a '_do you know me at all?'_ look.

Finnick thinks for a moment. I can practically see the light bulb come on when he speaks again. "If you do this with me tonight, I'll help you pick something out for Prim on our way home tomorrow."

I'm still hesitant, but ultimately I concede. Finnick's grin threatens to split his face in half. At least one of us will have fun tonight.

* * *

By the time I crawl in bed, I'm absolutely spent, but I have to admit that it's worth it. As much as it physically pains me to say it, but Finnick was right. Go-karts are a blast. I bundle the comforter around me tightly and drift off to sleep, thinking about how I'll be back in my own bed tomorrow night.


End file.
